The Good Samaritan
by J9
Summary: Warrick does a good deed for a friend (Warrick-Sara)


**Title:** The Good Samaritan

**Fandom:** CSI

**Pairing:** Warrick/Sara, implied Sara/Grissom

**Spoilers:** None, but it takes place in season four, somewhere before _Butterflied_

**Rating:** PG

**Word Count: **997

**Notes:** For the LiveJournal Multifandom1000 _Unrequited Love_ challenge.

Warrick had no way of knowing, when he took up Nick's offer to join him and Sara for a beer, that it would end like this. The three of them had gone out after shift plenty of times together, knew one another, knew one another's limits. They never let each other go past that, being all too aware of the consequences of driving drunk.

He knew his limit, stayed well shy of it, kept an eye on Nick and Sara too. That's how he knew that she didn't have anywhere near enough to drink in the bar to make her drunk.

So her inability, when he walked her to her car – something either he or Nick, but mostly him, always did– to barely walk a straight line came as quite the surprise.

It alarmed him somewhat, but nowhere near as much as when they actually got to her car, her having leaned heavily on him during their walk, and he saw that she was struggling to fit the key into the lock.

He frowned, but managed to keep his voice light when he asked, "You ok there, Sara?"

He would have expected her to at the very least glare at him, to toss off some flippant remark with that Sara smile that he'd come to enjoy so. Instead, she looked over at him, leaning against the car with a little giggle. "This is embarrassing," she said, the words ended with another giggle, and he smiled, though the sight was anything but funny.

"Man, you're wasted," he declared, and she didn't dispute it, looked skyward and shook her head.

"I have no idea how this happened," she told him. "Must be the fresh air…" Which didn't ring quite true somehow, and even more alarm bells sounded for Warrick when she continued, "And I can't remember when I last ate…"

Two excuses which could be perfectly plausible, Warrick knew that.

But he was a CSI by profession, and he'd always worked on the assumption that one plausible excuse was plenty. More than that, and you had something to hide.

So, he wondered, what was Sara hiding?

The second he thought that, he realised that there was no point going down that road; she wasn't going to tell him. Nor would it sort out their immediate dilemma, what to do next? "You ought to watch that," he said mildly, reaching out and taking the keys from her. "You're not driving this."

She nodded, accepting without comment. "I'll call a cab," she began, stopping when his arm slipped through hers.

"I'll drop you off," he promised. "And I'll pick you up before shift, bring you back here."

He half-expected her to protest, but she just leaned her head against his shoulder. "You're a good friend Warrick," she said, and he smiled, somewhat bitterly, though she wouldn't notice.

"Yeah… that's me."

It had been during the drive to her place that he'd begun to regret his good-guy stance, because he'd never seen Sara even remotely drunk before, and he never, in a million years, would have bet on her being a chatty drunk. But that's what she was, and by the time they got to her apartment building, she'd given him her frank and candid opinion on everyone who worked at the crime lab, some using language that frankly made him want to wash her mouth out with soap.

There was no way he trusted her to get to her apartment alone, so he helped her out of the car, had to practically carry her up the stairs and inside. Which only made her laugh more. "You're such a gentleman," she told him as he held her up with one hand, opened her apartment door with the other. "Do you do this for all the CSI's?"

His lips quirked in a grin as he pushed the door open, slipped an arm around her waist as he helped her in. "Only the ones I really like," he muttered, kicking the door shut behind him, throwing the keys on the kitchen counter, where they landed and slid with a clatter that had her wincing, hiding her face in his neck. "Sorry," he said, and anything else he might have wanted to say died in his throat when her arms went around his waist, holding him tightly.

"Don't have to be sorry…" she muttered, the words making the molecules of air between her lips and his skin vibrate, sending gooseflesh rippling across his body. "You're one of my best friends, you know that?"

In point of fact, he didn't, and when he looked at her, he was even more surprised to see tears standing in her eyes. "Sara…" he began, and she nodded, lower lip wobbling tremulously.

"I'm not just saying this because I'm drunk," she assured him. "But you are, you know."

He smiled, pulled her closer, rested his head on top of hers for a moment. "And you're one of mine."

She chuckled, and he began to move them both towards the bedroom. "Who'd've thought we'd end up here?" she mumbled. "After Grissom made me investigate you..."

"I remember…"

He was barely aware of what he was saying, concentrating on her, so her next words stopped him cold. "I love him."

Which he already knew, but tried to pretend he didn't, tried to pretend he hadn't even heard. "Let's get you on the bed here…"

She didn't stop talking as he laid her down. "He knows… but he won't do anything about it… and I don't know how he feels…" A long sigh as he took her boots off, then, "Unrequited love really sucks."

It was a long moment before Warrick could look up at her, afraid of what she might see on his face, and he was relieved when he saw her eyes closed in sleep, breathing deep and even.

Sighing, he reached out, brushed a lock of hair back from her face, letting his hand linger. "Yeah," he whispered. "I know."


End file.
